World of Iron and Blood

These years were a true Golden Age for Kyivan Rus. It stood at the peak of its power, flourishing thanks to the wisdom and foresight of the Great Prince Yaroslav the Wise. But the Prince's death marked a turning point. According to his will, Kyivan Rus was to be divided among his sons, and each was to rule his own principality. It seemed that this was how it should be.

However, one by one, Yaroslav's sons became victims of assassination attempts. Everything would have ended in total disaster if not for a miracle. The sixth son, Oleksandr, was mortally wounded in Halych. He was brought to Kyiv, barely alive, in an attempt to snatch him from the jaws of death. The best healers and herbalists did all they could. Hope seemed lost. But Fate granted him a chance, and the young prince survived.

At that time, power and authority were in the hands of the boyars - the very ones who had remained loyal to Yaroslav for many years. Following his will, they were tasked with preserving the unity of Kyivan Rus. The collapse of the great principality was not just a threat to them; it was a tragedy they sought to prevent at all costs.

When Yaroslav passed his principalities to his sons, most boyars quickly decided whom they would support. Each prince, from Iziaslav to Oleksandr, had their own supporters and base among the boyars. However, the sudden series of ruthless attacks changed everything. The deaths of Yaroslav's sons left only one heir to the throne - the young Oleksandr.

Many boyars faced a difficult choice. Should they support Oleksandr, the only legitimate heir of Yaroslav, and uphold their oaths to the late Great Prince, or exploit him, seeing him as a weak youth who could be manipulated for their own interests?

Some even considered seizing power for themselves, strengthening their positions, and dividing Kyivan Rus among the influential boyar families.

However, Oleksandr's position was not as precarious as they might have assumed. Among the boyars were many who were personally loyal to Yaroslav the Wise and his legacy.

These individuals, whom one might call trusted boyars, were driven not only by a thirst for power but also by a deep sense of duty. To them, Oleksandr, as Yaroslav's last legitimate heir, was a symbol of continuity and unity for Kyivan Rus.

They understood that the main power and influence were in their hands. By supporting Oleksandr, they could preserve Kyivan Rus as a unified and strong entity, prevent its disintegration, and affirm the order established during Yaroslav's reign.

The Princely Council, formed during the reign of Yaroslav the Wise, remained unchanged. Iziaslav, who was supposed to take power in Kyiv, never had the chance to solidify his authority or replace the council members with his allies.

Upon hearing that Oleksandr was alive, many rushed to Kyiv, hoping to secure a place at the new prince's court. Meanwhile, the Princely Council urgently began to gather, realizing that the moment had come to decide the future of all Kyivan Rus.

That day, many prominent figures gathered in the council chamber, including those present in Kyiv at the time.

First to enter was Chief Commander Ihnat, a representative of the warlike boyars. His stern, scarred face showed no emotion, but his gaze was heavy and cautious.

Next came Stanislav, the head of Yaroslav the Wise's druzhina and a representative of the trusted faction of the Great Prince. They exchanged silent glances, and a grim tension filled the air.

Then the doors opened again, admitting representatives of the clergy. Metropolitan Ilarion, tall and imposing, confidently took his place at the long table. Bishop Luka Zhidiata, known for his wisdom, followed, with Abbot Antoniy of the Pechersk Monastery - a man whose name was already legendary among monks - arriving a bit later.

Then came Oleh, Head of Administration of all Kyivan Rus, followed by Dobrynia Vsevolodovych, the steward of the princely estates (Kyiv and its lands), whose expertise in governance and military matters was invaluable.

Soon after, Ihor Rostyslavych, Novgorod's posadnyk since Yaroslav's reign, arrived, his reputation resting on his support for Yaroslav's sons.

Miroslav, the chief diplomat of all Kyivan Rus, a scholar and representative of the noble boyar scholars, was absent due to a diplomatic mission in Byzantium.

When the doors opened again, leading merchants entered the hall.

Lazar Torhovych, head of Kyiv's merchant guild, walked in confidently despite his short stature, his dark eyes assessing everyone in the room.

Mylon Yaroslavych, leader of Novgorod's merchant guild, carried himself more calmly, but his slightly mocking smile revealed his self-assurance.

Then came the noble boyars of Kyiv and other cities.

When the hall was full, the Metropolitan raised his hand, calling for silence.

- I welcome all who have gathered here. With the Lord's blessing, our young prince has survived a vile attack. Now, we face the question of conducting the ceremony for Oleksandr to ascend the princely throne and calm the people of all Kyivan Rus

- Agreed. On the way here, it was evident how unsettled the people are. If the prince does not ascend the throne soon, the situation may spiral out of control, - said Vyshata, a prominent Kyiv boyar and head of the Kyiv garrison.

- Then what are we waiting for? Where should we hold the ceremony? - Igor Rostyslavych, the posadnyk of Novgorod, frowned, visibly worried. He did not want to see the Golden Age of Kyivan Rus fade due to the absence of a prince. Any delays could seriously impact his revenues.

- St. Sophia Cathedral seems like the best choice, - suggested Abbot Antoniy of the Pechersk Monastery, to which Ilarion nodded approvingly.

- And what about security? What if the nomads attack again? - Oleh asked, addressing the commanders.

Ihnat frowned, scanning the room with a heavy gaze.

- Security will be ensured, - he stated firmly.

- But rumors of Polovtsian spies are troubling. We need to strengthen patrols and thoroughly check anyone approaching the city, - Stanislav agreed with a nod.

- We will block all entrances to Kyiv, and on the day of the coronation, we will station the druzhina around the cathedral, - he added.

- Kyiv will not fall to them, - Vyshata confidently declared.

- Good. Now we just need to organize everything, - Dobrynia was already calculating the costs.

Unexpectedly, Lazar raised his hand, demanding the floor. His voice sounded confident, almost playful:

- Esteemed gentlemen, are we forgetting that the coronation is not only about security but also about impressions? If foreign guests see our tension and excessive caution, they might doubt our strength

- What strength are you talking about? - one of the military boyars asked in confusion.

Lazar responded calmly:

- The strength of wealth. If we show that Kyiv can afford a magnificent coronation, our allies will respect us more. And trade will only benefit from it

- Excessive luxury could worsen the situation, - Bishop Luka interjected.

Lazar smiled.

- The Lord's blessing is wonderful, but you cannot cross a river with prayer alone. We, the merchants, are ready to assist with the organization, provided our efforts are duly appreciated

Oleh glanced at Dobrynia, who nodded in agreement.

- Very well, - Oleh said. - The contributions of all, not just the merchants, will be duly recognized. I give my word

Lazar, Mylon, and the others exchanged satisfied glances. Seeing that their main issue was resolved, Stanislav decided to move on to the next topic.

- Now that we've chosen the location, we need to discuss the details

Everyone nodded in agreement. Soon, the discussions about the organization came to a close. It was decided to hold the coronation in seven days.

The news of Oleksandr's miraculous survival, the last son of Yaroslav the Wise, spread through Kyiv faster than the winter wind. Heralds proclaimed the news in the streets, merchants discussed it in the markets, and women whispered prayers of thanks at the churches.

The rumors spread further, along rivers and roads, reaching even the most remote corners of Kyivan Rus.

- The prince lives! - these words echoed like the toll of a bell, proclaiming the resurgence of hope.

The people of Kyiv, shaken by the recent deaths of Yaroslav and his sons, took the news as a sign from above. After the tragedies that had struck the principality, Oleksandr's survival seemed like a miracle.

In less than a week, a ceremony was to take place that would officially confirm his status as the Grand Prince of Kyiv and all Kyivan Rus. This event was to become a symbol of unity for a country torn apart by intrigue.

The next day, Metropolitan Ilarion, the spiritual leader of Kyivan Rus, addressed the people. From the balcony of St. Sophia Cathedral, his voice thundered over the square like rolling thunder:

- People of Kyivan Rus! - he began, spreading his arms as if blessing those gathered. His voice was deep, commanding, and filled with confidence.

- God has been merciful! The Lord, in His infinite wisdom, has given us a sign! The last son of the Great Prince Yaroslav the Wise, Prince Oleksandr, has been saved from death. His survival is a blessing from above. It is the will of God!

The crowd froze for a moment. Commoners crossed themselves, elders murmured prayers, and women fell to their knees. Even the boyars standing aside listened tensely.

- We must unite around the young prince, - Ilarion continued, his voice growing louder as if striving to reach the most distant corners of their souls.

- Only in this way can we preserve what his father built. Only in this way can we restore the glory of our land! God is with us, Kyivan Rus is with us, and the Prince is with us!

His speech concluded with a hymn, taken up by the clergy standing beneath the balcony. This moment strengthened the people's faith that Oleksandr was chosen for a great mission.

Kyiv began preparing for the important day. Merchants brought gifts, boyars arrived in decorated carriages surrounded by their druzhinas, and commoners walked to Kyiv on foot to witness the moment that would decide the fate of their state.

Ihnat watched this from above. Every druzhina member knew their position, every street was under surveillance. Spies, rebels, traitors - he would not let them disrupt the day of the coronation.

Additional druzhinas, organized by the boyars, appeared on the streets to maintain order. Stanislav, head of the prince's druzhina, and Oleh, the prince's steward, coordinated the security and preparations.

Metropolitan Ilarion and the bishops worked on organizing the ceremony in St. Sophia Cathedral. The altar was adorned with golden fabrics brought from Byzantium, and sacred relics were hung on the walls.

The Church prepared a special service to emphasize that the prince's coronation was an act blessed by God. In their sermons, priests reminded the townspeople of the need to pray for their new ruler.

Oleh, Dobrynia, Lazar, and Mylon managed the financing of the ceremony. Funds came from the treasury and merchant contributions. The heads of the merchant guilds sought to demonstrate their loyalty to the prince.

Other merchants supplied food, wine, fine fabrics, and rare goods. Markets were being prepared on the streets so that the city's guests could feel the festive atmosphere.

The townspeople decorated their homes with fresh flowers, ribbons, and fabrics. On the main streets, festive arches made of greenery and bright flowers were erected.

The people prepared for celebrations, baking bread, cooking meat and beer, and planning songs and dances. The commoners awaited the distribution of food and gifts from the prince - a long-standing tradition symbolizing his generosity and care for the people.

Craftsmen created decorations for the city. Masons checked the condition of roads and bridges, while carpenters built temporary stands for the nobility. Seamstresses worked on ceremonial garments for the prince and his entourage. Armorers began planning the creation of a fine sword symbolizing Oleksandr's power and strength.

While Kyiv buzzed like a giant hive, preparing for the coronation, tension simmered in the steppes, deep in the heart of the Polovtsian lands. Khan Kurchan, a formidable and seasoned leader, second among all Khans, stood before a scout. The scout trembled like a leaf, sweating under his ruler's piercing gaze.

- Repeat what you said, - the khan's voice boomed like thunder.

The scout struggled to lift his head, unable to hide his fear.

- My khan, our men, together with the Pechenegs… - he gulped - failed to finish the task. One of the young princes, Oleksandr, survived. Our spies in Kyiv report that preparations for his coronation are underway.

Rage flared in Kurchan's eyes, and he slammed his fist onto the wooden table in the center of the tent. Cups of kumis and maps shifted from their places.

- You're useless, pathetic fools! - he roared. - Everything was planned perfectly, yet you managed to fail. You couldn't even kill a single boy!

His voice echoed throughout the tent, and the scout, unable to withstand the pressure, fell to his knees.

Kurchan took a deep breath, trying to regain composure. For a moment, he closed his eyes, then waved a hand, dismissing the scout.

- Summon Tarkhan. And you, out of my sight, - he ordered his attendants, snarling at the scout.

- Yes, my khan, - they replied, rushing to fulfill his command, while the scout disappeared instantly.

Minutes later, a tall man entered the tent. His figure was imposing, and his heavy armor gleamed in the light of the oil lamps. This was Tarkhan, one of the khan's most loyal and experienced warriors.

- You called for me, my khan? - his voice was calm, yet it carried an underlying strength.

Kurchan stared at him intently, then slowly sat back in his seat.

- Yes, I called. You are to finish what your comrades failed to do. Gather your most trusted warriors. Take a few tukmakchi and kantari, and arm yourselves well

- Then, deliver my message to the Pechenegs. Let them also send a detachment. I want everything done perfectly this time. Failure is not an option. The young prince must join his father and brothers in the afterlife. Understood?

Tarkhan gave a short nod, his face remaining expressionless.

- Yes, my khan. It will be done

Kurchan waved him off, dismissing him. Left alone, the khan leaned back against the soft cushions, taking a goblet of kumis in hand. His lips curled into a victorious smirk.

- That little brat won't last long, - he muttered to himself.

- When he falls, Kyivan Rus will collapse like an old yurt. Its lands will become our pastures, and its people our slaves

He raised the goblet and took a long sip, envisioning his hordes ravaging the fertile lands of Kyiv.